Khotodun

Khotodun

The air was heavy with the scented smoke billowing from the seven decanters positioned around the great circular room. It was snowing again, it always snowed this time of year. Helma surveyed the small crowd gathered in the wheel house. So young, she thought, was I ever that young? Seventy-three years old, her own mother in the grave for more than fifty, even her own children long gone. But now was not the time to think of them, no, not now. Now was for the living. Helma worried at the loose threads at the edge of her shawl, cleared her throat, and looked up to meet her family and friends. It was time to say goodbye.

“I’m glad you’re here, glad you’ve all come to wish me well before I’m collected.” Helma tried to keep her voice steady and calm.

“Gramma, you’re coming back, right? You’ve got to.” Helma looked up and met the worried gaze of her youngest grandson Halvar, his eyes were rimmed with tears. Helma felt a lump grow in her throat as she watched the boy trying to be brave, his oldest sister Lara laying a protective hand on his shoulder before speaking to him in a voice full of forced cheer.

“Gramma’s lost all of her grace, Hal. You know what that means. Tonight she will be gathered up by the Fell and she’ll go to the great loom. Her weave is over now so she won’t be coming back.” Helma could hear the strain in Lara’s voice, it reminded her of her own voice comforting Lara the same way so many years ago, the day her daughter, Lara’s mother, had gone beyond.

“No”, Little Hal’s voice broke and he started to cry again, “I won’t let you Gramma, I want to give you my grace. Take me with you, then we can both come home together and live here a little longer.”

“Hush now, no more of this foolishness. I am old and I’ve lived a good life, but I cannot accept your gift, Love. You have so many years ahead of you, I will not shorten them before they even have the chance to start. Come sit on my lap, and help me with The Giving.” Helma held out a hand to the boy who looked so much like his mother had. “That’s a good boy, you too Lara, come give me a hug.”

Helma would have spent her last few hours like that, holding the children tight, but that wouldn’t do. She had responsibilities she needed to attend to. Helma gave one more squeeze then cleared her throat. “OK children, go let the others in. It’s time for The Giving. Open the curtain and let the others in.”

Lara was the first to let go. She wiped her nose on her sleeve, then walked to the curtain that had given privacy to Helma as she said goodbye to her kin. Helma caught her eye and smiled as if to give assurance that all would be well. Lara reached for the curtain, drew it aside, and let the small group gather closer so The Giving could begin.

The first things given were the food, firewood, candles, oil, all the bulk goods that were Helma’s share of the community goods. Those goods went to the elders, they would help sustain everyone over the long harsh winter. The elder who accepted these items on the behalf of the community was only a few years older than Lara, highlighting for Helma how lucky she truly was to have lived such a long full life. She knew that her meager share could mean three more days of rations for their little clan, three days that could be the difference between life and death if the snows didn’t melt to open the mountain passes on time.

Next Helma dispersed her mining gear, pick axes, lanterns, thick gloves, compass, and bird cage. These she handed out to Karlson who organized the treks into the mines. Her pick axes were small and light, they would do well in the hands of one of the young ones next spring on their first trips into the mines. There were more young ones than old these days between the harsh winters and the raids, but the young ones were strong…

The giving continued as the night grew late. One by one Helma handed out her worldly possessions. Where she was going she wouldn’t need them, but in the hands of her friends and family they would gain new life. She knew her time was growing short. The Fell would gather her soon, but first she had two more possessions to give.

Helma reached under her chair and hafted a bundle wrapped thick in wool. She heard a collective gasp from the corner where the elders were standing, they recognized the bundle. The young ones inched closer, curious. Helma looked to Lara and Hal, “Come to me, children,” she beckoned, “this is for you.”

Lara and Hal drifted forward and knelt before their grandmother. Helma’s hands shook with anticipation, she knew the importance of what was coming. She’d always hoped it would come later, she hoped the children would be ready for what was coming. Helma looked down into her lap at the bundle steadying her nerves as she carefully untied the knotted cord holding it together. As the cord fell away, Helma lovingly unwrapped the wool blanket revealing an ancient maul, and a faded tapestry.

She handed the tapestry to Hal, “This is the story of our people. Each thread tells our history. You are now the keeper of that history. I’ve taught you the stories, you are now their keeper. Tell them, teach them and learn from them. Add to the weave. Even though my story is ending tonight, yours will go on and it will not be an easy one. Things are stirring here in the mountains and in the lands below. The legends are creeping their way out of the past, if you know the stories then there is hope.”

“And Lara,” she looked to her granddaughter and handed her the maul, “your responsibility is even greater than your brother’s. This hammer has stood against the nightmares, it has smashed away the darkness and defended our people for more than eight hundred years, and you are the one who will wield it against the coming darkness.”

A cold wind blew into the great circular room, stirring the flames burning throughout. No one turned to look, it would be unlucky to gaze upon the collector. Helma knew it was time to go, the threads tying her to this world had all been severed. She kissed each of the children goodbye, then rose and walked into history.